


You’re in time for the show

by DisenchantedHalo (Morgawse)



Series: And Morrison Makes Three [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alpha Grant, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Frank Iero, Omega Gerard Way, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/DisenchantedHalo
Summary: Grant's alpha needs something downright dirty and sleazy. He knows exactly what part of town will give him what he needs. What he hasn't counted on is the enticing scent of an omega in heat, or the mysterious other scent that overlays it. When he finds where the scents are coming from, he gets a peep show from two gorgeous omega's that might just change his life forever.





	You’re in time for the show

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hard Candy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/168076) by [ladyfoxxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfoxxx/pseuds/ladyfoxxx). 



> Another one that has been hanging around in wip for a while. Writing this stuff is one thing - getting the courage to post it, totally another! So yes, I am back on the F/G/G train. I love this OT3! But that just might be because I have as much of an obsession about Grant in his own right as I do over MCR. But hey!
> 
> This time I tried out a hint of A/B/O just to see what it felt like to write this - not something I've ever done before. I found somewhere in researching A/B/O the idea of Rogues - people with recessive Alpha or Omega genes, so I thought I would introduce that into the dynamics here. Let me know what you think - more A/B/O from me? This is also the first time I tried writing in the present tense. I think it adds to the urgency of the piece. The original fic this was based off (Hard Candy) was written that way and it didn't feel right to change it. I'm glad I didn't.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like my take on Grant getting a sex show from Frank and Gerard, with a tiny little cameo from Ray!
> 
> I hope I got all the errors and typos in this. If I didn't apologies.

Grant turns up the heater in his car. He really shouldn’t be out of the house tonight. He has deadlines to meet. But he’s been hunched over that desk for what feels like days without a break. If he stares at the revisions anymore, he’s going to go mad. He’s convinced of it. Not the good kind of mad that leads to massive royalty checks, future advances and enhanced reputation. No. Being cooped up inside his tomb of a mansion will send Grant stark raving, lunatic asylum insane.

Maybe the car was a bad idea. He can’t get fucked up on anything or drunk if he’s got the car. But hell, it is way too cold to walk. Who the fuck walks distances around here anyway? He hates cabs. Too much of a control freak to let some stranger drive him around. So, here he is driving aimlessly. The stereo cranked up as loud as it will go. The bass is reverberating around the car. It’s so loud that any passerby on the sidewalk will be able to hear the driving thud of the bass at the very least, if not be able to make out the tune.

If it’s not drink or drugs, then what is it he needs tonight? Grant has never been one for speed. So, there is no allure to racing through the city’s streets, running red lights, and avoiding the cops. What can he do that keeps him warm and legal, yet satisfies that itch? That restlessness eating away at him. Sex. It can only be sex.

Grant pulls over for a second to get his bearings. To figure out what part of town he’s in. He’s in the wrong part of the city for what he wants. His car doesn’t stand out around here. He looks like any other well-off middle-aged man in his sleek black coupe with the tinted windows. In another time, another place, he could be that man on the opposite sidewalk, hunched into his cashmere overcoat, arm protectively wrapped around his partner’s waist, whispering in her ear, sharing secrets, dreams and life together. But it’s not him. Not the Grant he created. Not even one he wants. Not really. He’d be bored. In that kind of stability, he’d never be able to unleash the creative genius he is known for.

Grant knows where he needs to be tonight. He still has no idea what he wants when he gets there. Who cares? Not Grant. He shifts the car back into drive and heads off for “The Anything Goes” district — the place where anyone can get anything if they have the money. Grant has the money. He can almost feel the wad of cash and the unlimited credit card burning a hole in his pocket.

The view from his car windows begins to change. From the designer clothing shops, the chic restaurants and bars that expect you to comply with their strict dress codes to the chain restaurants, coffee shops, banks and the mass market clothing and homeware stores of the middle classes. Grant can feel something stirring as he takes a left off Main Street. He wants to glide in under the radar. He wants to weave his way through the back streets. It adds to the adventure. He doesn’t know these streets so well. He’s relying on instinct and a general sense of direction. Because some of these are dead-end or one-way streets, so he can’t simply drive parallel with Main Street.

As he gets closer, he swears he can smell it. The air is thick with the smell of sleaze: sweat, drugs, tobacco, alcohol, and cheap, tacky, dirty sex.

Grant lets out a low growl. Yes. Sex. It is always sex that stirs more than just the insanity. Drink and drugs make Grant crazy, help loosen the flow of ideas. But sex - that stirs something far more primitive. Grant has made sure that only a handful of people know his secret. He can pass himself off as human 90% of the time. He has honed his dominant tendencies to such an extent that most people assume they are merely part of his ‘leadership’ style and qualities, like so many other successful humans. They are wrong.

Grant sniffs the air. No, it’s not this pack of streetwalkers he can smell. He makes sure not to slow down. He doesn’t want to attract their attention. There is a scent that he can distinguish from all the others wafting in through the car’s vents; it’s sweeter than honey and vanilla mixed, but it’s not a cloying sugariness. There is a purity, a delicateness to it. It is spine-tingling. Grant knows this is what he needs. The Alpha in him needs to let rip. Out there somewhere in this low rent district is that one Omega he can smell. All he has to do is follow that intoxicating odour. Grant keeps driving.

Right now, he doesn’t care if he finds the scent coming from a street hooker, a brothel, or a strip joint. Grant isn’t worried what services he gets so long as the Omega he’s paying for looks as delightful as they smell. Then he catches something else. There is another musk overlaying the one he’s chasing.

Dammit! Grant thumps the steering wheel in frustration. Some motherfucker has his prey. Not tonight. That’s not how this is going down.

Instinctively, Grant rolls down the windows taking in lungfuls of the toxic air, hoping it will help him find the location quicker. Now the car’s heater is turned up to the maximum for both heat and strength of blast. Grant turns the heated seat on too. It’s the first time he’s ever needed to do that. His Alpha blood runs warm, but it is unseasonably cold tonight, and with both windows open the air is whipping through the car as Grant cruises the city streets.

Then he sees a sign. It leaps out at him above all the other neon. Live sex shows. It’s flashing at Grant like some sign from the gods. One deliberate sniff confirms that this is the place. He needs to find a place to park; somewhere there is a chance that he will find the car in the same condition it is now when he comes back to it having had his fill of that Omega.

Grant is calmer now. Not totally unruffled, but no longer raging. He knows that the Omega is in that building somewhere. However, there is still that other male’s smell. If Grant didn’t know better, he would have said that the Omega and this other were paired because of the strength of the connection of their musk. That is impossible. It can’t be true; not with the reactions, Grant’s having. They’re too strong for it to be any random Omega. This one is going to be special to Grant. Logic also finds its way into the Alpha’s brain. Unless the Omega is a bartender, he can’t be paired. They don’t let Omega’s with a mate work the podiums in places like this. No self-respecting Alpha would risk another Alpha becoming fixated on his mate from a sex show. 

The way the other scent smells also tells Grant that they aren’t a mated pair. The other musk has a sweet overtone to it. Grant’s curiosity is piqued because, despite that sweetness, it doesn’t feel quite like an Omega. There is a hint of something else there, something earthy. But as Grant can smell the scent quite distinctly, he can’t be a Beta either.

Grant walks faster than he has done in quite some time. He wants to see this Omega. He needs to know why the other’s musk is clinging to him. He needs a drink first. One beer. That won’t put him over the limit. It will, he hopes, take the new edge off. He already has enough edges. That’s why he’s here.

He sits at the bar, absentmindedly picking at the label of the bottle. It’s not any of the staff behind the bar that he’s smelling. None of them are Omegas. That’s a huge plus. It means that his Omega is performing one of the shows. He scans the place. There’s an open stage with tables dotted around it. But the venue’s too big for that to be all there is.

Grant gestures to the nearest bartender.

The guy, a Beta with a mop of curly brown hair, comes over. “Want another?” he says pointing at the almost empty bottle.

Grant shakes his head. “Club soda, please. Gotta drive later.”

“Sure thing. What’s your other poison? You know, we cater to every whim here. Maybe I can point you in the right direction?” The bartender is a slick salesman. He’s trying to put Grant at ease. He can tell that Grant has no idea of the range services this place provides, but he won’t outright let on to that. Perhaps the guy can also see that Grant is from uptown, with money to spare. Money that, as far as the Beta is concerned, Grant should spend in this bar.

Grant can’t let on that he’s chasing down one particular scent. But he has no idea how to start looking for it.

“Our main shows tend to be quite tame. The next one’s all human should be on in another fifteen. The other stage round the back is half-way through a set. One of our most popular little Omega’s and his Alpha.”

Grant’s heart sinks a little at the words. Although his intuition still insists that the other’s musk was not an Alpha’s, it is a plausible explanation.

“Ryan and Brendon have been doing this shit for years; you should go check it out if that’s more your thing. The seating around that stage is a little more, uh, secluded,” the Beta adds with a wink.

Shit, this dude is good! He picked up that twitch of Grant’s face at the mention of humans. The face that Grant pulls when he tries not to scrunch his nose up in disgust at something somebody has said, because it isn’t polite, and Grant likes to show good manners to those around him.

Grant throws a few dollars on the counter; a hefty tip included because this Beta has impressed the heck out of him. Not an easy feat. Then Grant slips down off the bar stool, taking his drink with him and begins to walk in the direction that the bartender indicated.

At least this gives him something to do while he locates his Omega. It had better not be either this Ryan or Brendon. For some reason though, Grant knows neither is, even if there had been that second of despondency when he heard there was a pairing that could explain what he’s been feeling.

Grant can see down the short corridor to the back stage. The seating around the stage is sectioned off into small little cubicles, big enough for one person. Maybe two if you were really friendly and not afraid of tight places. The afro-haired guy is right. This is more Grant.

The scent is getting stronger. Grant allows himself to be pulled along the corridor by his nose. The Alpha is straining at the leash. Desperate for release.

He notices that there are doors to his right. Each one has a red or green light on the frame — private rooms. Grant pauses outside one. He doesn’t check the colour of the light. He’s not concerned either way. His Omega isn’t behind that door. He stopped because he’s trying to get the direction right. Grant knows he’s close. The way he’s starting to lose control of the Alpha tells him that.

There - the last door. The one facing him at the very end of the corridor, past the stage. Again, Grant is offering useless prayers to gods he doesn’t believe in that the light on that door is green.

Grant doesn’t even bother casting a glance at the stage as he passes it. He does not need to check if the duo on stage are as good as he was told. Not unless he gets a red. He can’t get a red. The Alpha doesn’t want to wait.

Luck is on his side — a green. Grant pushes the door. It’s heavier than he expected. He lets out a little huff with the effort to open it. Inside is one chair, covered in red velvet, a black box on the wall, two dispensers, one for paper towels, and Grant can only imagine what the other one contains. He doubts it’s hand sanitizer. There is also what looks like a speaker next to a glossy wall. Grant’s never been in one of these places before, let alone a private booth, but even he knows that behind that wall is his Omega. He hopes the speaker is two-way.

Grant swallows. This is it. Time to slake his Alpha thirst. He reaches into his pocket to fish out his wallet while he reads the faded instructions on the black box. He has guessed correctly that this is how he pays for his time in here. It takes cash or credit. Grant kind of wants to just take his time. He doesn’t want to be pressured by feeding in bills, but he’s nervous about feeding an unlimited credit card into a machine in a sleazy place like this.

Cash it is. Grant flicks through his bills. What’s the largest bill he has that he can sensibly feed into the machine? Why waste time watching the clock tick down? But what if the scent belongs to someone that isn’t visually his type? Then he’s wasted his money. He’s heard of things like that happening before. Grants not sure why it’s essential that the Omega looks good, because right now all he wants is to get off. He’s not looking to mate with the Omega - no matter what folklore said about the captivating scent of your one true life partner. Grant doesn’t buy that shit. He’s made his decision. He doesn’t tie himself down to anybody. This is just a physical transaction. Something to scratch the itch. Just being in the presence of this Omega and watching him touch himself will be enough to get Grant relief irrespective of what the guy looks like.

A twenty. Yeah, that will do. Grant tries to feed it into the machine. Out of nowhere, he’s all thumbs, and the damn machine isn’t helping. It keeps spitting the bill back at him. Finally, he makes it. The digital display blinks into life, showing 20:00 and begins its countdown.

There’s a humming noise. One that would irritate him in any other circumstance. Here, however, it doesn’t. Because here it’s an indication that the black window blind is slowly rolling up. Grant stares at the bottom of the window, waiting to catch his first glimpse of the Omega that has his full attention tonight.

What he sees first is that there are two pairs of feet. Both bare. The other scent! The blind continues its painfully slow journey upwards. Grant can already feel his breathing getting heavier. The anticipation is starting to excite him. He wants to know who this other pair of feet belong to. To solve that mystery. Grant examines the two pairs of jean-clad legs. One looks like they belong to someone short, not exactly solid, but not wiry either. The other to someone taller and definitely lean. But who is who?

Then Grant can see some hands. Long, delicate, Grant might even say artistic fingers. They must belong to the taller man. They’re wrapping around the other’s hips, gently cupping his crotch. More and more of the pair is revealed. Grant’s mouth is watering. There are tattoos. The shorter man’s hands are covered in tattoos. His arms too. Fuck! Grant has a thing for tattoos. Suddenly he knows what follows when the blind reaches the end of its journey is going to be something pleasing. Very pleasing.

They have the aesthetic working well. Although both are wearing black spray on jeans, the taller one is wearing a black round-neck t-shirt over his wiry frame, while the shorter one is wearing a white one stretched across his chest, even more, tattoos peeking out from the v neckline.

Finally, the humming stops and the blind shudders to a standstill. Grant congratulates himself on being right. They are both gorgeous. Now that he sees their faces, Grant is both certain and confused. Certain that the one with the tattoos and stretched white t-shirt is his Omega. He can see the tell-tale traits from the way he holds himself, the delicacy of his features, the way that he peeks out at Grant from under his eyelashes. Grant is confused by the taller redhead. He’s no Alpha that much is a given. He has a gentleness and femininity about him that could make this an Omega and Omega pairing, but then there is something in the redhead’s face and general demeanour that hints at more. It’s there in the way he’s holding the Omega Grant came for. It’s not possessive, but it certainly is protective. 

He’s wasting time. Not that he can’t afford it. It’s more about the driving animal urge to relieve his frustration. This is not the time or place for one of Grant’s intellectual musings. No matter what he is, the taller male has a charm that Grant finds alluring.

However, it is his Omega who initiates things. He points to where the speaker must be on their side of the wall. Grant takes the hint. He sets the chair up closer to the window from where he can reach the speaker and hopefully be heard through it without having to be right in front of it. He would hate to spoil the view of these two beauties. He presses the button. Then his mouth dries up. He’s not sure what to say. Having that pane of glass between them, it’s a hindrance. It’s an inconvenience Grant hadn’t anticipated would get to him. But it does. If he were able to feel the body heat radiate off them, feel their breath on his skin, let alone be able to touch them, he would have no hesitation. That’s why he likes hookers and lap dancers; he can feel their body heat, their breath.

“What’s your name, sugar?” It’s the redhead. The timbre of his voice not as confident as the words suggest. Is it a script or because the redhead is breaking the rules? Oh, how Grant wants it to be the latter. Rulebreakers make life so much more interesting.

He knows he should give a John Doe, but before he can think of one, he blurts out, “Grant”.

“That’s a good start, Grant. I’m Gee, and this is Frankie. So, what d’ya wanna see?”

“Everything. Whatever you’ve got. Strip first - both of you.” Grant is finding his voice. The dominant Alpha tone. This is exactly what he needed. He can already feel the excitement. There is a subtle shift in how Gee is looking at him. He must have recognised Grant’s Alpha status, but he’s not giving off completely submissive vibes, not yet anyway.

“Yes, Alpha,” Frankie responds. It’s perfect! Frankie’s voice is fucking perfect. Grant thinks it carries a dulcet tone even with the harsh edge of the New Jersey accent.

Grant can’t wait to see what’s under their clothing. He’s not patient at the best of times. With a sex-starved Alpha pawing at the edges of his sanity to get out, he has zero patience. They don’t make him wait though.

Gee drops his hands away from Frankie’s hips, then takes a step back so that there is some space between them. Now that the gap exists, Gee grabs the hem of Frankie’s t-shirt. In one practised movement, Gee slips it over Frankie’s head as Frankie rolls his hips backwards into him. 

“Turn around,” Grant orders. He wants to know what Frankie looks like from behind.

Without stumbling or wrong-footing the other, Frankie and Gee turn so that Gee is facing Grant, gazing at him over Frankie’s head. Frank’s hips are still gyrating to a beat that Grant can’t really hear. He can’t figure out whether that’s because the sound is low in the room or the music is only on their side of the wall. Answering that question does not interest Grant. Frankie could be wildly out of time, and it would not matter one iota to Grant. He just wants to check out the sway of those hips.

However, Grant can’t help noticing the ‘Keep the Faith’ tattoo. With that and what Grant assumes is ‘Let Love In’ mirrored just above the tantalising hollow of Frankie’s throat, Grant indulges himself, momentarily shoving aside his Alpha urges, to pose the question of what could have happened to the little Omega for him to need those reminders etched permanently on his skin? Could that explain Gee’s protective attitude? Then it hits Grant, that if that is the case, then Gee IS an Omega too, but no doubt a Rogue. Somewhere deep in Gee’s make up are some recessive Alpha genes. He's so extremely protective of his stage partner. Grant reckons there is no other possible explanation now that he has seen them together.

Grant shakes those thoughts off. He’s here for a good time not to play therapist. He’d make a lousy one. Grant can’t and won’t deal with all those touchy-feely, emotion things. They make you weak. 

Frank is toying with the hem of Gee’s shirt. Unlike his partner, Frankie isn’t going to whip the t-shirt off. He is going to take his time revealing Gee’s torso. Grant wonders if there will be a tattoo or two under there as well. But there isn’t. Grant is not disappointed though. What Grant finds revealed is a flawless porcelain canvas; tight skin with a little discernible muscle and hardly any excess chub. It’s as exquisite as Frank’s inked torso. The contrast of these two is breathtaking.

“And the pants.” The Alpha is impatient for more flesh. Grant is salivating. 

There is another subtle dance between the Omegas as they end up side by side, both facing away from Grant. With pants that tight, it is going to be a feat for them just to allow them to drop to the ground. There will be no flowing movement as the denim pools around ankles to be kicked off with a flourish. Instead, there is wiggling, exaggerated shimmies and a couple of jumps before both pairs of jeans are indeed around the Omegas’ ankles. The differences between the two of them become apparent again. Gee sticks his ass, clad in what must be red silk shorts, high in the air, bending over to pull the restrictive fabric off over his feet and throw it to the side. Frankie does some strange crouching and bending over move, standing on one pant leg at a time as they inch their way over his feet. It’s not elegant, but it still shows off the curve of his tight round buttocks in his black briefs and the tattoos covering his legs.

Now that only the briefs cover Frankie’s body, Grant knows why his scent was the more potent of the two. Frankie, it seems, is beginning to come into heat, there is a wet patch forming on the briefs. Grant thinks it strange that someone in Frankie’s profession isn’t on heat suppressants, but then again if he was, would Grant be here now? He thinks not, and that would have been a crime. 

More and more of a sheen is appearing on Frankie’s body the longer he is in proximity to Grant. There is also an almost indiscernible trembling of Frankie’s legs. But, Grant hasn’t asked them to do anything except take off their clothes. Grant’s scent is affecting the Omega, much the same as the Omega is affecting him.

“Come here, little Omegas. I want to get a proper look at you,” Grant commands.

They both instantly turn and drop to their knees. Grant was right - there’s no denial from Gee. Instead, Gee gives Frankie a reassuring nod, encouraging him to make his way up to the glass before him.

Frankie crawls forward. It isn’t the most seductive crawl; it’s tentative and awkward the same as he was taking off his jeans, belaying the earlier polish to his performance. Grant still metaphorically licks his lips.

Gee follows a few seconds later, slinking forward on his hands and knees with all the grace and elegance of large cat, except he’s not hunting prey, not with those doe eyes turned downwards and partially hidden by the messy red bangs. 

Grant feels a tell-tale twitch. The excitement just got physical. He drops a hand to his crotch. He lets out a guttural sound as he squeezes himself. If this is just them being this close, how good could his orgasm be?

Grant releases the grip on himself then rubs the scent gland on his wrist, holding it up to the speaker, allowing the mix of worn leather, oak, and smoky spices to waft through to the other side of the glass in a much stronger hit than what the rest of his body naturally gives off. 

Both Omega’s practically have their faces squished against the glass. It should look weird, their features smushed up like this, but it’s not. It flatters Grant’s Alpha. They appear to be craving his touch as much as he longs to touch them. He runs a hand down the side of their faces. 

Frankie lets out a little purring noise as he nuzzles up into the touch, all shy and blushing while his tongue darts out to play with his lip ring. Grant hasn’t noticed that until now, nor the one in Frankie’s nose. Yet more reasons to like the way this Omega looks.

Gee pulls back slightly, sniffing the air and gulping down as much of Grant’s scent as he can. While he does this, his left hand traces the same path down his face that Grant’s had. There is still a challenge in his eyes, daring Grant to do anything that might hurt Frankie. Grant sees that Gee’s other hand is resting on the small of Frankie’s back, letting him know that he’s still there with him. 

“It’s ok, Omega. I won’t ask you to do anything that would hurt either of you,” Grant reassures. “You let me take full control now.”

It is like a switch has flipped and the defiance disappears, but the protective hand remains in place. Grant decides to let it slide. It’s not like they have had time to build any trust, nor is there any need to. It’s a business transaction. Frankie and Gee do their job. Grant gets his rocks off; it is as simple as that. He owns neither of the Omegas.

“Stay here up close to the window,” he commands. “Don’t remove the underwear just yet.” 

Grant wants to build the tension. Sure, you could cut a knife through the smog of sexual desire in the room, but the anticipation does things to his Alpha. It wants everything NOW, but the wait will turn the mouth-watering sight of what he knows will be two small but perfectly formed cocks into a different league than if they strip to nothing too soon. Besides, Grant has always had a thing for seeing the strain of a small Omega cock against underwear. Then there’s the fact that as exciting as watching slick drip down an Omega’s thighs is, seeing that damp patch of pre-cum grow on an Omega’s briefs while the slick keeps flowing does things to Grant in ways he can’t even being to describe.

“Touch yourselves through your underwear. Tease yourself. Imagine another pair of hands cupping you, then a thick, swollen Alpha cock grinding up against you, their teeth grazing your neck or biting at your ear. Show me what those thoughts do to you, Omegas.”

Both comply immediately, hands dropping to press against themselves, beginning to rub and coax themselves to fluff up to attention.

In hardly any time at all, Gee is holding a steady pace as he plays with himself, biting his lips and rocking his hips in a hypnotizing manner. Gee’s eyelashes begin to flutter and Grant sees a quickening in the rise and fall of his chest. Unbidden, Gee sucks on the fingers of his free hand then slips them around, sliding under the fabric of his shorts. He’s teasing himself alright. If that’s what the thought of an Alpha does to Gee, Grant’s ego demands that it’s him that the Omega has in his head. But he won’t ask. He knows this is just a job to them. They do this for any schmuck who’s got money to burn in here. Even so, he so wants it to be him Gee’s imagining.

While Grant has turned his attention to Gee, Frankie has been whipping himself up into a frenzy. The Omega’s face is flushed, there’s no longer just a sheen on his body, there are full on beads of sweat forming on his brow. He’s frantically grinding against his hand. There’s a frustration to his movement. 

“Ahhh, shit, shit shit. Alpha I...I...need,” Frankie whines. “Need more. Ache. Throb. You...you…Gra...Alpha...need you...need more.” 

Grant reminds himself it’s just the hormones talking. But he agrees - 'need more'. Grant is going to let the little Omega in heat get what he needs. He won’t taunt him. If he does, he’s only doing the same thing to himself. It’s time to see what he’s been waiting for.

“Take the underwear off. Keep touching yourselves.”

Grant isn’t disappointed. Frank’s cock is small, hard, red and leaking, just as Grant hoped it would be. Gee is bigger than Grant thought, must be those Rogue genes again. It does nothing to deter Grant though, he’s desperate to touch. He wants to taste. He imagines what it would be like to wrap his lips around one then the other, savouring their different flavours. Then again, he would love to have his mouth on one and his hand on the other then to swap over. He craves the experience of them squirming under his touch.

That thought does it, the strained feeling in his pants gets too much. Grant reaches for his belt buckle. Why did he have to wear this one tonight of all nights? It’s the one he always fights to get undone. He can’t drag his eyes away from the scene in front of him, so he’s going to have to undo it blind. Grant fumbles with it. He fidgets in the seat, turning this way and that until it comes open and Grant can make swift work of the button and zipper on his pants. Then he hooks his thumbs in the elastic of his underwear dragging it down until he has it situated underneath his balls and his leaking cock springs back against his belly. 

Grant runs his fingers over his slit, collecting the pre-cum, which he proceeds to smear down his length, before sliding his fingers up and down the underside. It’s time to sit back and watch the show.

“Gee, take him from behind, so I see every movement of your bodies, every roll of the eyes, every gasp and moan coming from your mouths.” The next words aren’t planned, not even expected on either side of the glass, but instantly they leave his mouth, Grant knows they are the right words. The words that bring this whole scene to another level. “You know best what he needs right now, and how to give it to him. Go ahead.”

Gee stops. He looks at Grant, eyes wide open. A small ‘oh’ slips past his lips. Not in pleasure, in surprise. Gee realises what Grant has just done for him. The understanding that this is no brutish Alpha looking to jack off to some pretty Omega’s. This is a connection, something more. It’s an admission to Grant that he was correct. He watches with satisfaction as Gee guides Frankie into position on his hands and knees, one hand circling Frankie’s entrance making sure the slick is spread well enough to make his intrusion easier on his partner, the other pumping himself with a renewed vigour. When Gee finally eases himself into Frankie, Grant wishes that he had a camera to preserve the bliss, relief, discomfort and wantonness all mixed into one glorious expression on Frankie’s face.

As much of a turn on as watching this face on is, Grant wonders what it would feel like if he was there with them. He would be behind Gee, pounding into him, setting the rhythm for Gee to thrust into Frankie. Grant doesn’t just want to imagine what it would feel like. He needs to experience it. But that’s not going to happen right now. Grant does the next best thing that he can think of. He describes the scene out loud for Frankie and Gee.

That’s when he hears it. He knows he’s been expecting it. It’s quiet. So low that maybe he wasn’t supposed to hear it. 

“Graaant”. Frank’s eyes are beginning to roll back in his head.

Gee’s tugging on his hair with one hand, while he holds Frankie steady with the other. He’s biting his lip. The red hair streaming everywhere, the sweat glistening on his torso, face flushed with the sweetest shade of pink Grant has ever seen. Gee won’t hold eye contact with Grant, but he’s stealing glances when he thinks Grant is focused on Frankie. Grant can tell when someone is watching him. He has always had that ability, like a sixth sense. It’s pinging off the charts right now. Gee is very deliberately licking his luscious lips, flicking his head with an ease that would make a shampoo commercial model jealous and sending beads of sweat flying in the process. 

Grant is on tenterhooks for what comes next. His cock is throbbing. He suppresses the urge to pump it faster. If he does, he won’t last. He wants to see them come undone first and he hasn’t permitted them. They understand that Grant is calling the shots here. He controls when that happens.

Gee picks up the pace. Frankie almost lurches forward at the increased force, fighting the buckling in his arms. Grant can see the shaking, the mouth hanging open, the tongue peeking over the crest of his bottom teeth, the little gasps for breath. He must be so close.

“Fuck. Fuck. I wanna see you come. Can you come for me, Frankie?”

There’s no need for verbal confirmation. Grant is transfixed as he watches. The way that Frankie’s eyes squeeze shut, the way his mouth shapes around his groans while spit leaks out of the corners. The shuddering in every fibre of his body before it all tenses up for a split second. Then he erupts. The ropes of white sticky cum spurting out at such a force that some drops even make it far enough to spatter the glass.

Gee does now hold eye contact with Grant for a second. It’s a request. No, more like a plea. He wants to come too, but the protection of Frankie is back, mixed in with that need. There is a lingering distrust. No, that’s too harsh a word for what Grant sees. The connection the three have made already has built a thin crust of something akin to trust. Wariness. Yes, that’s more appropriate. That compulsion to know what has happened to Frankie in the past is back again. Whatever it was, it has made protecting him an instinctual habit for Gee. That much is evident to Grant. But he can’t become involved, can he? He’s just a punter.

But Grant won’t hurt Frankie; he already made that clear. However, it is apparent that Gee needs more reassurance from Grant. As much as Frankie could take being oversensitized in his current state, that’s not what Grant wants. He wants their full trust. Both of them. He wants...he wants...Grant crams down the emotion bubbling up in his chest. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, not yet. The Alpha has to get some relief first. The Alpha libido has to regain control of the situation before something infinitely more sentimental ruins the show.

“Frankie, I think Gee deserves a little something don’t you?”

The Omega is panting hard. He can barely squeak out a response. Frankie’s lips mouth a Yes Alpha, as Gee slips out of him and sits back on his haunches.

Grant creates a turning motion with his fingers. Frankie gets the signal and turns to face Gee. He reaches out to stroke him. Grant stops him.

“Uh, Uh, Uh. With your mouth, little Omega. With your mouth. You swallow too, understand?” There is no need to listen or watch for a response. The Omega will obey without hesitation.

Grant can’t help himself. He hasn’t thought about it. But, the second he sees the back of Frank’s head bobbing up and down and Gee’s hips bucking into Frankie’s face, Grant’s mouth is open again. Now he’s telling them about how he wants to be behind Frankie, using the slick and cum that’s dripping down Frankie’s thighs to coat his fingers. Detailing how, while Frankie has his mouth wrapped around Gee’s cock, Grant wants to run his fingers around Frankie’s hole teasing it, making the muscles quiver. He explains how every moan that leaves Frankie’s mouth would reverberate around Gee’s cock. Then, Grant wants to plunge two fingers straight in there, filling the little Omega. Grant would make good use of his middle finger. That finger would find its way to Frankie’s prostate. Then Grant wants to milk it until Frankie can’t stand it anymore. Until Frankie is whimpering and begging to come.

Of course, Frankie is mewling, right there in front of Grant. The sound of Frankie’s groaning and the sensations created by those noises around Gee’s cock are going to tip Gee over the edge. Gee has long since stopped licking his lips. There’s a slew of moans and curses dropping from that pretty little mouth. Mixed in among them is the word that Grant wants to hear; because he’s got inside Gee’s head. Rogue or not, it’s the submissive Omega side that’s in the driving seat now. Responding on instinct, less so to the mouth around his dick, more to the sound and the presence of Grant, the Alpha. That’s the name ringing out of Gee’s mouth as he throws his head back. 

There’s no reason for Grant to hold back now. He’s pumping harder, arching up into his hand. All rational thinking human is gone, only the dark, primal Alpha exists. There are noises falling out of Grant’s mouth that he hasn’t heard in years. Not since he smelt his first Omega in heat, and found that he was indeed an Alpha.

Grant can see the fresh slick leaking down the Omega’s legs. “Touch yourself, Frankie. Make yourself come again.” Grant’s pitch is so low; it’s more of a rumble than anything else. 

He flicks his eyes to the little LED numbers on the black box. There are four minutes to go and counting. It’s a pressure he doesn’t want. Grant wants more. Should have used that fifty he found first. If he stays though, he knows it won’t satisfy him. Not if he can’t touch or taste them. On the other hand, he doubts that it will be long before anyone, either side of that fucking obstructive glass wall is coming. Perhaps he can….

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Alpha pleeease!” Grant nods towards Gee, a salacious smile on his face. Instantly Gee’s body spasms.

Frank’s head twitches slightly as he allows Gee to ride out his orgasm inside his mouth and obediently swallows every last drop of his partner’s cum. 

Even though Frankie is facing away from Grant, Grant notices that the Omega hardly missed a beat touching himself as he helped Gee through his orgasm. Grant stares intently at the rippling of the muscles in the Omega’s back. He’s studying the way that the tattoos move with every pump, every twitch, every buck. He is almost drowning in his own drool at the things that he would like to be able to do with that back. How he could mark it up!

There’s an ever so slight pause. There is a slowing of the speed at which Frankie is stroking himself. Grant knows from before that the hesitation is a cue, Frankie is on the edge again. This time the only way Grant can think of that adequately describes his Omega coming is with full body convulsions. Every muscle in that small, graceful frame is straining under the force of this orgasm until they can’t support Frankie’s weight anymore.

That’s all it takes. The sight of Gee dishevelled, gasping for breath, and under Grant’s control. Next to Gee, Frankie collapsed onto the floor, overwrought and debauched, but probably desperate for more. Grant takes a couple of swift stokes, a few flicks of the wrist. Then, as though every fibre of his being has been set on fire, it rips through him. He’s not even sure what the strangled noise is that escapes his lips. All Grant knows is that this orgasm is exploding through him, like an IED trying to tear him limb from limb until his hand is covered with that sticky white substance.

Grant slumps back in the chair as the last few seconds of his time tick down like some archvillain’s doomsday clock. He swears he can actually hear the tick, tick, tick of the sadistic machine to his left. On autopilot, he reaches for the paper towel, cleans up, and tucks himself away. His eyes never leave the tangle of pale and inked flesh in front of him.

Then it’s over. The blind is making its way back down. The two spent Omegas are lying on the rug as close to the glass as they possibly can. Grant swears that, as he takes one last look behind him before making his way out the door, he can see moisture in Frankie’s eyes, a wobble to his lips. There’s a similar look in Gee’s eyes too. Grant would swear to the god’s that it’s there; that it’s not his overactive imagination or sex drive making this up. 

Grant is going to have to leave now. If he doesn’t, he is sure he will violate every rule that the club has, not to mention seriously wreck the place, to get to Frankie and Gee. He has to, repeat has to, see these two again. He has to find a way to get to them in person: to touch them, to feel them. 

The thought comes unbidden to Grant’s mind. Why has he never thought of this before? Does it still violate his own code? He needs to think this through. Suddenly Grant can’t breathe. Shit! His breathing had only just returned to normal. He stands outside the bar trying to catch his breath. But then just as suddenly Grants legs and arms are pumping. He’s running. His lungs are burning from a lack of oxygen, unused to this type of physical exertion. He’s heading for the safety and security of his car, his own space away from prying eyes. No one should see an Alpha so unsure of themselves, so conflicted. Right now that is Grant. He knows the old ways are nothing but stories made up to justify a morality code and protect a way of life. Aren’t they? So why does he feel like this, about Frankie, about Gee?

Grant slams the car into drive and pulls recklessly away from the curb, not bothering to check in his mirrors. His mind is racing. He is paying no attention to speed limits or traffic lights. He can’t. His whole attention is focused on understanding how this happened to him? He went out to find some sleazy, dirty, no strings attached sexual relief. That was all. Not make plans to see anyone again. Not have that stone cold, jet black thing in his chest suddenly be jolted into life by a pair of honey and a pair of hazel eyes, two of the prettiest faces he has ever seen, one body covered in tattoos and a pair of precise artistic hands. But it has. 

Somehow, some way Grant will square his conscience. He will make damn sure of it. A man can change his mind, can’t he? Without being ridiculed or feeling like he betrayed himself? Of course, he can! He’s Grant Morrison; he can do whatever the fuck he wants. What Grant wants now is to get his hands on Frankie and Gee. Have them confirm what his Alpha senses are already yelling at him - they are his, both of them. He will get to them, he promises himself. Just first he needs to get used to the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for reading :). I really enjoy interacting with people who read my writing, so please comment and let me know what you thought. All constructive comments welcome.
> 
> I hang out on twitter under Disenchanted Halo@morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect, I usually tweet when I post something on here.


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